


In the Paws of the Lion

by sunstarunicorn



Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [26]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Major Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-04-30 17:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14501682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: Seconds can change everything, something Team One knows all too well.  When Alanna Calvin is found on the floor of the living room, clutching her head and unresponsive, it sets off a battle none of them can fight and a journey none of them ever expected to take.





	1. Lift Me Up (The Afters)

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the twenty-sixth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "The Kindness of Strangers".
> 
> The chapter titles for this one are a bit different. Each one is a song title, with the artist who performed that song in parenthesis. This story is _not_ a series of song-fics; let me be clear on that point. That being said, I did have a reason for picking each song and artist; some chapters took a lot of time and thought to name properly.
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.

It was late on a Wednesday night and Greg Parker was just grateful he’d managed to get home and to bed at a decent hour. The kids had been shooed off to bed and he’d enjoyed a rare quiet half-hour before deciding to turn in himself. He was part-way there when he stopped, startled by the sound of the water on in the bathroom. It wasn’t _completely_ unusual for his _nipotes_ to sneak in for a late-night bath or shower, but after the time he’d caught ‘Lanna in there at two in the morning on a school night, he’d forbidden them from indulging during the week. Neither had given him any static or trouble over the decision…until now.

So, with a frown, the Sergeant reversed his course and headed for the bathroom, planning a few stern words and maybe a consequence for the next day or so. Then he got close enough to hear another sound…someone throwing up; he bolted for the room, annoyance and irritation vanishing in a heartbeat. Without a smidge of regard for privacy, he pulled the door open to see Alanna in the bathtub with the water running; she was throwing up again and looked positively _miserable_. He hustled to her side and pulled her hair back, understanding now why she’d opted for the tub…easier clean up. She barely acknowledged him at first as she heaved, her body still throwing up even though there was nothing left.

When she stopped, leaning forward to rest her forehead against the tile, he asked, “You okay?”

“No.” Miserable and plaintive, with a touch of ‘it hurts, make it stop’. “My head hurts.” As if to emphasize the point, she clutched it as soon as she pulled back from the cool tiled wall. A soft whimper rose from the girl.

“Tell me.”

Another whimper. “It feels like I stuck it in a vise,” Alanna managed before another bout of heaving wracked her slender frame. Greg braced her as best he could from outside the tub and tried to think. When the heaving stopped, she leaned her head against his arm, a pleading look in violet eyes.

“All right, just…just hang in there.” He wanted to panic, but that wouldn’t help. “You stay here as long as you need to; don’t worry about school tomorrow. I’ll get you a bowl for when the water runs cold.”

She nodded without looking up and then started heaving again. Reluctant, Greg stood and headed for the kitchen to locate a big enough bowl or plastic tub for her to use. He headed back with his chosen container and waited until the water ran cold and Alanna made her slow, careful way out of the tub. Usually perky eyes looked dull and pained…even her hair hung low and limp as he helped her into the living room and got her on the couch with the tub he’d found. Hardly had he gotten her settled when she grabbed the tub and started heaving into it, bringing up precious little, but the act itself exhausted her.

Greg debated calling an ambulance for her, but finally decided to wait until morning and see how she was doing then. “Get some sleep,” he urged her before heading off to bed at last…if she was still sick in the morning, he’d call in and get himself a few days off.

* * * * *

It hurt; hurt so bad that she wondered dimly why Uncle Greg thought she could get _any_ sleep. It had started so suddenly too…she’d gone to bed, tucked herself under the covers and started going to sleep when it hit; a headache worse than any she’d ever had before in her entire life. And nausea…she’d pushed it down at first, but when she felt it start pushing at her, she’d bolted out of bed and headed for the bathroom as fast as she could go. The tub had been easy; water to clean the mess up, water to clean _her_ up, and maybe it was just a one-time thing. Except it hadn’t been…she’d barely been able to stop once she’d started and her head _hurt so much_.

When Uncle Greg found her, she’d been too miserable to even _look_ at him…never mind feel embarrassed about a _guy_ , in the bathroom, with the shower curtain open. The warm water had helped, a little, but it couldn’t last forever. When it finally ran cold, she’d been grateful that he’d helped wrap her in a towel, then into her pajamas, and supported her to the living room and the couch. Her head still felt like it was about to split open and she silently begged the mental jackhammers and workmen to stop…it hurt, it hurt, it hurt. When she didn’t need the bucket, she clutched her head, and when she needed the bucket, her head throbbed and hurt even more. She was shaking and trembling and it felt like all her strength was being spent heaving absolutely _nothing_ into the blasted bucket on her lap.

The night passed in a long, miserable blur and when a semiconscious state finally took hold, all she could think was, _Why am I still awake?_

* * * * *

Greg made sure he was up before Lance, heading to his _nipote’s_ room and warning him that Alanna wasn’t feeling well and to be as quiet as possible around her. Lance nodded acknowledgment and hustled through the rest of his morning routine. As Greg trailed away, he mused on the fact that whatever Alanna had, Lance didn’t look sick at all. An uneasy feeling crawled up his spine as he reached the kitchen and started scanning for something his niece could eat without throwing back up.

“Alanna!”

Greg shot out of the kitchen at his nephew’s alarmed cry; when he reached the living room, he found a scene straight out of his nightmares. Alanna was face-down on the floor, sprawled between the couch and the hallway; she’d clearly fallen off the couch at some point during the night. The tub she’d been using had rolled away and fetched up against the coffee table; Greg gave silent thanks that _Alanna_ hadn’t fallen on the table herself. Worst of all, she wasn’t responding to her brother’s frantic efforts to wake her; Greg bulled the boy aside without any hesitation and rested two fingers against her pulse. He sagged in sheer relief when he felt it throb under his fingers and a faint moan came from the girl.

“Alanna, sweetheart, can you hear me?” Greg prodded. “Come on; open your eyes for me.” No response. The Sergeant jerked upright enough to signal his nephew; Lance nodded and launched himself at the nearby phone. Greg tuned out the 911 call and focused on trying to get his niece to respond. She made a few incoherent sounds and feebly tried to shift, but it was clear she was in trouble. It was also clear that her head still hurt, judging by the way, even now, she tried to clutch it. He didn’t move from her side until the paramedics arrived and assessed her. A few frantic plans ran through his head as he watched the paramedics ease a backboard underneath his niece and lift her up onto their stretcher. “Lance, go with her,” he ordered briskly. “I’ll be right behind you…Metro General?” he questioned one of the paramedics.

“Yeah,” the paramedic confirmed. “He can ride with us.”

Lance scrambled to keep up as the paramedics hustled Alanna out of the apartment, leaving Greg behind to lock up. Greg drew a breath and detoured to the kitchen to grab his phone and his keys. As he locked the apartment and raced for the elevator, he thumbed out a message and sent it to his entire team:

LANNA IN HOSPITAL  
NOT IN TODAY  
UPDATE WHEN ABLE  
-GREG


	2. Hurricane (Natalie Grant)

Greg peeled out of his apartment building’s lot and did his best to keep from stepping _too_ hard on the gas; he mostly succeeded. As he drove, he had to ignore the chirping and beeping from his phone; he’d update his team when he had time and information. When he pulled into the Metro General parking lot, he steered for the first open – legal – spot he could find and barely took the time to put his car in park and turn it off before he was out and racing for the front entrance.

Inside, the desk workers recognized a man following an ambulance and one of them guided him to his _nipotes_. The nurses and doctors were hurrying around, doing their best to figure out what the problem was. Greg overheard one of the doctors order a CT scan as he came to a halt beside his nephew. Lance looked utterly lost and helpless as he stood next to the table his sister was on; Greg slung an arm around the teen’s shoulder and looked down at his niece, his heart clenching. He should have called 911 the night before.

A nurse coaxed Alanna into taking an anti-nausea pill and settled the girl back down on the table. Violet eyes were clouded and confused, but flicked to her uncle and brother, seeking reassurance that they were still there. Lance gripped his sister’s hand, a fierce refusal to be moved in his eyes.

As activity bustled around them, Greg pulled his phone out and sent a more detailed message to Commander Holleran, explaining, briefly, what had happened and more demanding than requesting time off. Holleran’s return message granted the time off and requested permission to start spreading the news. Greg bit his lip and texted permission back.

Then he focused on the room, blinking as he realized he, Lance, and Alanna were alone; all of the nurses and doctors were, for the moment, gone. A wheezing sound came from the table and Greg automatically looked down only to nearly freeze in horror; Alanna, on her back in the standard recovery position, had thrown up again. On her back and almost helpless, she was choking on her own vomit. Lance darted for the door, yelling for help, but Greg slid one arm under the girl and tried to pull her up…when that didn’t work, he turned her on her side. On her side, Alanna was able to cough and clear her airway; the SRU Sergeant shot the newly arrived nurse a dirty look for leaving Alanna on her back and alone except for her family. The nurse wisely left the girl on her side as she coughed and tried to throw up again.

* * * * *

Uncle and brother were left behind when Alanna was taken for the CT scan; Lance huddled into his uncle’s chest, eyes wide and frightened at something that couldn’t be fought. A cleared throat drew Greg’s attention to a man peeking in; he was about Greg’s height, with silver hair and brown eyes hidden behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, and he had a friendly, open expression. “Hi there,” the stranger greeted, “I was visiting a member of my church and I couldn’t help but notice the flurry of activity. I don’t mean to intrude, but I was wondering if I could pray with you for the young lady?” For a moment, Greg could only stare at the man, but then his brain kicked into gear and he decided it couldn’t _hurt_ , so he accepted the stranger’s offer. He was a bit unnerved when the man actually came in the room and prayed over both the Sergeant and the teen, but kept his mouth shut. The stranger gave them one last smile once he’d finished and, before he left, told them, “I’ll keep the young lady in my prayers. God bless.”

* * * * *

Alanna didn’t reappear and a careful inquiry brought the news that she’d been sent for a second brain scan. Greg swallowed hard at that…brain damage; the very idea sent chills up his back. That the lively girl he knew might have brain damage…it took a minute to calm himself down again.

Close to an hour after the praying stranger left, Alanna was wheeled back in, with a doctor hovering nearby. Solemn, the doctor gestured for Greg to follow him; Lance stayed behind with Alanna. Greg was feeling a bit numb as the doctor guided him into the room next door. “Well?” he asked, hardly recognizing his own voice.

The woman sighed. “It’s bad and we can’t treat her here. We ran two scans just to be sure. She has an aneurysm and it’s leaking blood onto the brain. That’s causing the brain to swell, which is why she has a migraine and why she’s throwing up. Where do you want us to take her?”

“Rush.” The teaching hospital was not only one of the best hospitals in Toronto, it was where both kids had their tech-side doctors. The hospital’s reputation was well-known and equally well-earned; Greg could think of no better place to turn to in a medical crisis.

A regretful headshake. “That’s too far, Mr. Parker. We can take her to Mount Sinai or Toronto Western Hospital. Which would you prefer?”

Greg swallowed hard and was about to answer when a nagging, passing thought struck. Brown eyes hardened and narrowed. “You’re the doctor; what’s _your_ opinion?”

The doctor looked a bit taken aback by the counter-assault. She thought for a second or two, then blinked. “The neurosurgeon from Toronto Western Hospital is here right now…let me go ask him.” The SRU Sergeant watched in some bemusement as the doctor whirled out of the room and returned a minute or two later. “He said ‘take her to Rush’. I’ll make the arrangements.”

With a heavy sigh of relief, Greg watched the woman depart and started his own planning. If he left his car here and had a member of his team pick it up…just a shame that Lance wasn’t quite old enough to take his driver’s license test yet. Well, it couldn’t be helped now…he’d just deal with things as they came.

Before leaving Metro General, Greg called Holleran and updated him on what was happening. The Commander, though shocked and horrified, promised to inform Team One and the rest of the station.

* * * * *

The next hurdle was the spirited debate as to whether Alanna would be transported by ambulance or by helicopter. Greg broke out in a cold sweat at the very _idea_ of flying, but he’d do whatever he had to for his niece, even fly. To his private relief, the doctors concluded that Alanna wasn’t quite so bad off as to need a LifeFlight. Unfortunately, the ambulance didn’t have room for _both_ Lance and Greg, so Greg, once again, sent Lance with his sister and drove himself.

* * * * *

She heard her brother calling her name, heard her uncle’s quiet urging, but she couldn’t respond. Alanna struggled to move, to reassure her family, but it hurt too much and she was still wracking and heaving. She knew the paramedics had come, knew they were putting her on a backboard and struggled to help, but even that felt pitiful and weak. Strangers, they were all strangers…then she saw her brother hurrying along beside them. Alanna fixed her gaze on her brother, her big brother, and held on. She didn’t know where her uncle was, but she knew he’d be along soon.

* * * * *

The emergency room was more of a painful blur than anything she really registered. She did her best to follow directions, but much of it was simply beyond what she could do…and she was still throwing up. She wasn’t really aware of almost choking, she just listened to her uncle’s instruction to roll onto her side. Dimly, she knew they were taking her to Rush and that they were considering a helicopter ride. Past the pain and everything else, she had a fleeting wish that they _would_ choose the helicopter…she’d never been in one before. But she was in far too much pain to regret the lost chance when they chose to send her by ambulance. She knew her brother was with her, but really, everything was getting harder to focus on.

A snatch of song rang in her head. _‘He’ll find you in the hurricane’_ With everything she had left, she clung to the song, letting it play in her head, believing, _trusting_ , that it was going to be just fine. All she had to do was hold on and trust in Him.

The stretcher’s motion and sound was really just in the background but she saw the tiled ceiling moving overhead. And when it stopped, she wondered where she was, but, just then, she felt herself slipping down into darkness. She took the song with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone points out that Rush University Medical Center is _not_ in Toronto…I'm well aware of that. It's actually in Chicago, Illinois, but it's the hospital _I'm_ most familiar with as I've been going there since I was an infant. Therefore, I moved it to Toronto for this story.
> 
> On the Real Life front, we are done with our final presentation and, essentially, with our training. Just studying and interviews now. We're also seeing if we can snag the next level of certification while we can still get reimbursed for it. We'll see how that works out...all in the Lord's plan (and His timing).
> 
> Thank you all for praying me through this. It's not over...won't be over for another two years...but at least I've made it _this_ far and your prayers have been a big part of that. Hope you enjoyed, please read and review, and have a great weekend all.


	3. Somebody's Praying Me Through (Allen Asbury)

The sparse, clipped text message from their Boss set off a storm of return texts, all of which went unanswered. Team One finished changing into their uniforms and pretty much descended on Winnie’s desk to see if _she_ had heard anything – she hadn’t – and use her phone to make a few calls. None of them wanted to tie up their cell phones in case the Sarge tried to call.

The tussing for the phone had just gotten underway when Commander Holleran appeared; Team One froze, with Ed and Wordy in the middle of using their respective heights as a weapon both against each other and Spike, who’d been fastest to Winnie’s desk, while Lou did his best to budge Wordy _away_ from Spike – he wasn’t getting _anywhere_ with that. Sam and Jules were staying out of range and Winnie had rolled away from the phone in self-defense.

Holleran frowned at them and cleared his throat rather pointedly. Reluctantly, Team One disengaged from each other and looked at their commander sheepishly. “Sergeant Parker contacted me from the hospital; they’re in the middle of determining what the problem is. This morning, Greg and Lance found Alanna on the floor of the living room, unresponsive and clutching her head. Anything more is going to have to wait until Sergeant Parker contacts me with an update.” The tall black man paused, giving Team One time to absorb his report. “Team One, I’m standing you down for today and taking you off-rotation pending Parker’s next few reports.” He shifted back, turning to go, then looked back. “If you kill each other trying to get to that phone, I will be _very_ unhappy.”

As Holleran left, Wordy huffed, glaring at both Ed and Spike. The stand-off continued until Spike held up a hand in the ‘scissors’ position. Two furious rounds of Rock, Paper, Scissors later, Wordy had won first crack at the phone. Wordy headed for the desk and grabbed the phone, reaching over the desk and dialing. After a moment, Shelley picked up the phone and Wordy told her, “Shel, ‘Lanna’s in the hospital. We don’t know what’s wrong yet, but Holleran’s going to keep us updated.”

Shelley’s shocked gasp was audible to the rest of the hovering team. After a breathless moment, Shelley replied, “Do you know where she’s at? Greg must be beside himself. And Lance…that boy adores his sister.”

Wordy frowned. “I bet they’re at Metro General right now, but if it’s bad enough, they might move her. Hold off till we get some better info; I think Sarge’s got his hands full right now. Sorry, but I got to give everyone else a shot at the phone.”

“Okay, Kevin. If you can, tell them I’m thinking of them.”

“Will do, Shel.”

Wordy dropped the phone on its cradle and pulled it back up to pass the phone off to Spike. Spike leaned over, punching the numbers, then brought the phone up to his ear. **“Mamá? My Boss’s niece got taken to the hospital this morning. Can you and Papá pray for her?”**

Spike’s mother let out a brief sputter of protest before Spike’s words penetrated enough for her to understand what she was being asked. Then her voice turned sympathetic. **“Of course I will pray for her, Michelangelo,”** she reassured her son. **“Do they know what is wrong?”**

**“Not yet, Mamá,”** Spike admitted. **“We’re leaving our cell phones free for the Boss to call, so I need to hang up and give the phone to Ed.”**

**“Of course, of course,”** Mrs. Scarlatti replied. **“Let me know when you have news. That sweet, charming child…I will tell your Papá now and we will pray for her safe recovery.”**

Spike grinned a little as he hung up and passed the handset to Ed. Leave it to ‘Lanna to charm his mother when she normally hated anything and everything to do with his job. Ed dialed the phone and when his mother-in-law picked up, spoke briskly. “Hi, it’s Ed; I need to talk to Soph.” When she sputtered, he just said, “Now, please.”

It took a minute or two, but soon Sophie came to the phone, with an irritated, “Ed, why are you calling me?”

“Soph, the Boss’s niece just got taken to the hospital. I know you’re mad at me, but could you just keep her in mind or something…?”

Sophie gasped, her surprise at Ed’s news clear. It took a moment for her to absorb the news. Then she asked, “Do you know anything, has Greg called, do they have any idea what’s wrong?”

“Soph, I don’t know any more than that. The Boss sent us a quick text and Holleran gave us a few more details, but I don’t think even the Boss knows what’s wrong yet. I’ll call when I get more information, okay, but we just don’t know yet.”

“Okay.” Sophie’s voice had gone from angry to soft and worried. “I…I’ll tell my mother and we’ll see if we can do anything from up here, all right?”

“Thanks, Sophie,” Ed breathed, before hanging up the phone and letting out a breath.

Winnie’s eyes were wide as she looked up at them. “Could I…make a few calls of my own?”

Ed blinked, then realized she wanted to let a few people know herself. “Ed, we should let Commander Locksley know, too,” Lou pointed out from the side. “And Onasi.”

The team leader considered, then nodded. “Okay, I’d rather keep our cells open, but faster to just get it done, yeah?”

* * * * *

More than a few _other_ members of the SRU had overheard the commotion and the news and they quietly spread it amongst themselves. Ed, after calling Roy and asking him to update Onasi, called Dean Parker to rely the news to him. Unbeknownst to Team One, the initial sharing of news touched off a chain reaction that soon spanned a far greater distance than any of them could have anticipated.

Spike’s mother didn’t stop at informing his father; she soon had her evening prayer group updated on the news, with a promise to keep them informed as things developed. Her prayer group, in their turn, spread the news to _their_ friends and family. Spike’s father temporarily dropped his antagonism towards his son and his son’s job to inform the men he’d once worked with of the news; once again, the news spread far beyond just that initial contact.

Dean Parker didn’t tell his mother or stepfather, but he did depart his home in Dallas shortly after the phone call and rounded up his sports buddies to tell them his cousin was in the hospital. One of them, a churchgoer, led the group in an impromptu prayer and shared the news with his youth group later that night.

Roy was in his precinct when his brother called and his reaction to the news was loud enough that most of his coworkers found out without even _asking_ him what was going on. That, coupled with a few office gossips hanging about when Roy told his new – and rather odd – partner, meant that Guns ‘n’ Gangs was on-board and fully briefed before the hour was out.

Onasi, once he was informed by Roy, headed for Madame Locksley’s office posthaste to share the news and thence to Gringotts to let Silnok know; Greg had insured Team One’s Auror liaison could contact the goblin in an emergency. Silnok sent two letters, one to Lord Longbottom, one to Lord Potter, and called the goblin emissary to Narnia into his office to dispatch him with the initial hospital report to Narnia.

Shelley and Sophie let their parents and, in Shelley’s case, their in-laws know what was occurring. Their children would have to wait, but both women wasted no time contacting their friends and acquaintances, sharing the news.

And the man who’d been at Metro General and just ‘happened’ to spot a distressed Greg Parker and his nephew headed back to his church and shared, briefly, about the young lady he’d prayed for with the rest of his staff. The staff all agreed to keep the young lady in their prayers for the foreseeable future.

* * * * *

Commander Holleran reappeared once Greg called in his second report from Metro General, before he drove down to Rush. Team One, still hovering in the atrium, straightened to attention, looking at their commander with barely disguised hope that whatever was wrong was minor and Alanna would be out of the hospital in a day or two. Holleran crushed their hopes with two simple sentences. “Alanna has a brain aneurysm. She’ll be going into surgery as soon as the ambulance reaches Rush.” The atrium, already silent, went so quiet that a _feather_ dropping could have been heard. “Sergeant Parker asked me to inform you that, until further notice, he’ll be contacting me directly with any updates.” The tall, lean man drew a deep breath. “Now, I know we’re all shocked by the news, but it’s not over yet. I’ll admit, it sounds bad, but let’s not count Alanna out.”

Nods went around Team One…they knew how stubborn _both_ kids could be. Still…brain injuries were tricky and almost _always_ resulted in permanent damage. Before the next round of phone calls started, the team circled around Winnie’s desk as the dispatcher looked up brain aneurysms online. When Winnie blanched and tried to click out of the page she’d found, Spike leaned farther over her shoulder and pulled her hand off the mouse. The tech swallowed hard.

“Guys, ‘Lanna’s only got about a fifteen to thirty percent chance of coming out of this with minimal damage,” he reported grimly. “At _best_.”

He turned to see his team go deathly pale…until Jules blew her breath out and pulled one of the oldest quips in the book out. “Never tell me the odds,” she decided, tilting her chin up. “ _I’m_ not giving up on her, not till it’s over.”

“Copy that,” Ed agreed firmly. “Okay, since the Boss is gonna be calling Holleran directly, we can stop avoiding our cell phones. Get the update out there; let’s get this done.”

* * * * *

As the hours ticked by, the news – and the accompanying update – spread farther and farther, until it stretched from what seemed like half the population of Toronto, both magical and tech, to a small pocket in Dallas, to the distant shores of Magical Britain, to the even more distant shores of Narnia. The updates Parker called in from Rush were just as quickly spread and dispersed. By the time evening fell, Alanna’s ‘support team’ had grown far beyond her immediate ‘family’ and well beyond just the people she knew.

* * * * *

Far away, in Narnia, two parents huddled together at the news that their daughter, their baby, was sick in the hospital and they _couldn’t help_. Queen Lucy tried her best to comfort them, but it didn’t help much. Victoria Calvin looked at her husband, seeing her own helplessness reflected back at her. After a long moment, she twined her fingers with his.

“We have to trust them,” she whispered.

He nodded. “They haven’t let our kids down thus far.”

“And…” Victoria choked, but forced the words out, “And if He thinks it’s time for her to come home…they’ll be there for Lance.”

Artorius pulled his wife close. _Please, Aslan, not like this,_ he prayed. “It’s not over till it’s over, ‘Toria,” he replied firmly. “Just keep praying; we might just pray her through this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the Real Life front, I (and my classmates) are officially in 'staging'...also known as sit, study, and get really, really bored while we hope for interviews. I hope I'm wrong, but right now I suspect I'll end up watching all my classmates get jobs while I'm left behind. At least...that's how it seems to be shaking out at the moment. I know God has a place and a plan for me, but I've never really gotten good at waiting like this. I prefer a more active kind of waiting.
> 
> Thanks once again for all your support and prayers. Hope you enjoyed and have a great rest of your week,  
> sunstarunicorn


	4. The Roar (Chris Tomlin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as Rush University Medical Center is a real place, so, too, is their Tower. Although the description may be a bit odd, it is, indeed, a real place and I speak from personal experience.

Greg rubbed at his face as he sat on the sleeper sofa in Alanna’s room. The room was _very_ nice, with a big-screen TV, a top of the line hospital bed, an attached private bathroom, and two large wooden doors that could be closed for privacy. The room was large enough for two patients, as were all the rooms on the floor that he’d seen so far, but each room only had one patient. Even the sofa he was sitting on was much better than what he’d seen in most other hospitals; though he suspected his opinion would change after he’d slept on it for a night or two. Oh, well, if he got tired of the sofa – no pun intended – he could move to the recliner.

Just as impressive was the building itself. The Tower was the newest addition to Rush; it boasted fourteen floors, had been designed from the ground up with the very best in medical technology, ventilation technology – to reduce the risk of infection, and had even been built in the shape of a butterfly to allow nurses to be much closer to their patients than the traditional setup allowed. As a nice bonus, each room had large windows with a gorgeous view of Toronto.

Lance trailed into the room, still looking a bit lost. They’d been informed that the initial surgery to seal the aneurysm had been successful, but that news was hard to believe when Alanna was hooked up to numerous medical monitors _and_ sported a drain on her head that was attached to an IV pole. Plus, Alanna was still unconscious on the hospital bed; she didn’t even stir when the nurses came in and did their work.

Both uncle and nephew were exhausted and wrung out after their nightmare of a day; Greg had finally shooed Lance off to the hospital cafeteria to get something to eat. The Sergeant didn’t want anything for himself; the idea of food made his stomach turn even though he hadn’t eaten since the night before. Now the two looked at each other, both wondering what they were supposed to do next. Greg was well aware that _both_ of them staying overnight wasn’t a good idea, but driving Lance home would leave Alanna completely alone, something Greg _absolutely_ did _not_ want to do.

When someone entered the room, the pair looked at him rather blankly, before Greg shot to his feet. “Commander Holleran.”

Holleran inclined his head. “Sergeant. How is she doing?” His gaze trailed to the still form on the bed.

Greg sighed, letting his shoulders slump. “The doctors say she came through the surgery fairly well, but it’s too early to tell if there’s any permanent damage.”

The commander’s gaze was sympathetic. “Any idea when you’ll know?” At his subordinate’s head shake, the commander leaned back on his heels, thinking. After a minute, he asked, “I assume you want to stay the night?” Greg gave a hesitant nod. “All right, then. I’ll give your nephew a ride home tonight and back here tomorrow. I’ll also brief your team tomorrow; Team One will go off rotation for now and we’ll reevaluate in a week or so.”

A load Greg hadn’t even known was there lifted off his shoulders. “Thank you, sir.” Lance looked briefly rebellious, but let his breath out in a huff and moved to stand next to Holleran in silent acceptance. Holleran guided the teenager out of the room and Greg found himself back on the sofa. His eyes traveled to his niece and he blinked back tears. Fourteen years old and she’d just survived her first stroke **(1)**.

* * * * *

Commander Holleran’s update the next morning was unwelcome, but, as every member of the team had hit the Internet to bone up as much as they could on brain aneurysms, not unexpected. That they were being stood down for at least a week was more of a surprise, but that gave them plenty of time to figure out the best strategy for helping their boss and his _nipotes_. They stayed at the station in case Holleran got any more updates before they’d hashed out their plans and commandeered the briefing room as soon as Team Two left.

Wordy called Shelley and turned his phone on speaker. “Shel, we’re gonna try and figure out how we’re handling this. Holleran’s taken us off rotation, at least for now, so we’ve got all hands on deck to help Sarge and the kids.”

“Good,” Shelley replied. She’d already plotted out a few steps herself and took charge before Ed could. “Now, first of all, we have to make sure neither Greg nor Lance are spending all their time at the hospital.”

Jules nodded thoughtfully as she wrote their first priority down; she had a pen and clipboard to take notes with. “Keep them from running themselves into the ground,” she mused.

“Exactly,” Shelley confirmed. “Now, I was thinking more of overnight watches, but since you’re going to be off-rotation, we can swing daytime shifts, too, which should take the weight off Greg’s shoulders. Lance will try, I’m sure, but right now, Greg’s the only adult at the hospital.”

“Sounds like you’ve already got this worked out,” Sam observed. “So, who’s first?”

Shelley paused a moment. “Do you know if Lance spent the night?”

“He didn’t,” Ed reported, “But Commander Holleran took him back this morning.”

They heard sounds of writing from the other end; Shelley making notes as she went, just like Jules was. “Okay, I think I’ve got at least today and tomorrow figured out. First things first, Lance will _not_ be spending any more nights at Greg’s apartment without supervision. He can come here.” Team One agreed with that sentiment. “Sam, if you and Lou could take the first daytime watch?” Before Team One could ask, she explained, “With two of you there, you can trade off for who goes to get lunch or if you need to take a break.”

“Makes sense,” Lou agreed. He hesitated a moment, then offered, “How ‘bout I handle e-mailing folks all the updates and news? That way instead of everyone calling around every time we get an update, we have one person handling all of the contacting and communicating.”

The team looked a bit startled, but then Jules remarked, “That sounds like a good idea, Lou. Then we won’t accidentally leave someone out of the loop somewhere down the road.”

Taking over the conversation again, Shelley continued briskly, “Jules, Ed, could you take this evening? That way we can get Greg to our house for a good night’s sleep in a bed and see if we can figure out how the kids’ schoolwork is going to work out.” None of them had thought that far; Wordy was just grateful Shelley _had_.

Shelley outlined her plans for the next few days; receiving full support and approval from Team One. With plans hashed out, Ed ducked into Holleran’s office to tell him that they were leaving, but asked him to keep Winnie up to date. The commander agreed and also offered to keep Commander Locksley updated. Ed had to raid his Boss’s locker to find the number, but, soon enough, Commander Holleran had Madame Locksley’s phone number to use as needed.

* * * * *

Greg’s head was spinning by the time Sam, Wordy, and Lou showed up at Rush. Alanna’s neurosurgeon had made an early morning visit and explained that during the initial treatment for the aneurysm, he’d located another problem. The Sergeant had never heard of Moyamoya and, quite frankly, he had bigger fish to fry. Alanna’s eyes had opened that morning, but she hadn’t responded to, well, anything. Not the doctors, not the nurses, and not either himself or her brother. She’d had a few…he’d almost call them fits…but nothing more than that. More mini-seizures than any type of actual interaction. In short, by the time his team showed up, he was feeling tired, discouraged, and overwhelmed.

He instinctively protested when Wordy started herding him out, Lou tugging Lance along. “Wordy, I can’t just leave her.”

“Easy, Sarge; Sam’s gonna stay while Lou and I get you two down to my van. Then Lou comes back up here and he and Sam will keep an eye on things for the rest of today. Jules and Ed are taking the evening shift.”

It took close to a minute for Greg to process that; realizing just how _exhausted_ he was, he gave in without further protest. Lance _did_ protest, but Wordy shut him down. “And how much sleep did you get last night, kiddo?”

The answer was obvious from the dark circles under the teen’s eyes. Greg slung an arm around his nephew’s shoulder. “I don’t think they’re going to take ‘no’ for an answer, _mio nipote_. So let’s let them help, hmmm? I don’t know about you, but I sure could use the help.” Lance still looked rebellious, but he finally nodded.

* * * * *

Lou frowned as he laboriously compiled the master contact list for the planned e-mail updates. As annoying as the procedure was, it meant he didn’t have to look at the still, silent form on the hospital bed. Sam had taken to pacing around the room, looking utterly frustrated at his inability to help. With the master list complete, Lou began typing the first e-mail, updating the tech-side contact members on the success of the surgery. Though he made it clear that Alanna had yet to wake up, he maintained an upbeat tone throughout the e-mail. Before sending the e-mail, Lou pushed the laptop to where Sam could see the screen, cocked his head, and hiked one eyebrow in silent question.

Sam huffed, but stopped his pacing. He came over and inspected the screen, his brows furrowing as he read the e-mail. “She hasn’t even woken up yet, why are you sending an update?” Unspoken was the observation that an upbeat tone was perhaps a bit premature, considering the lingering possibility of brain damage.

“Can’t give up, Sam,” Lou pointed out quietly. “If _we_ give up, all those people pulling for her are gonna give up too.” Dark eyes trailed to Alanna. “And maybe _she_ gives up; who’s to say she can’t hear us talking right now?”

Sam’s eyes widened at the possibility. Then he forced a smile, tapped the top of the laptop’s open lid, and said, “Looks great, Lou.”

Lou understood, because he was having the same struggle. The odds that they’d get Alanna back were low, low enough that his upbeat tone had been hard, really hard, to keep up. As cops, they saw _so_ many times when things _didn’t_ work out; believing that they would work out _this_ time felt like raising false hopes, cruel hopes that would twist like a knife when the inevitable happened. But giving up without a fight…that was something they wouldn’t do on a call; by that same token, he _couldn’t_ give up _here_ without giving this fight the best he had.

* * * * *

Jules and Ed arrived at about the same time and, in the dead of night, had no trouble finding parking spots. They trekked through the main hospital and took the elevator up into the Tower. Once in the Tower, Ed texted Lou for the room number and the pair wandered through the ICU, finding the correct room with minimal difficulty. Inside, they found Sam and Lou, the latter packing up his laptop for the trip home.

“Hey,” Sam remarked quietly, his voice subdued and a smidge of upset underneath it.

“Hey, yourself,” Jules replied as cheerfully as possible. “How was the daytime watch?”

Lou flashed a brief grin and deliberately kept his voice just as cheerful as Jules’. “Got the first update e-mailed out. Maybe our girl hasn’t talked yet, but she’s still here, so that’s something.”

Ed and Jules traded disappointed looks and dropped their own bags on the sofa as Lou and Sam finished packing up and departed with visible relief. Jules rifled through her bag and pulled out _The Hobbit_ ; she tugged the recliner closer to the hospital bed and caught the blanket Ed tossed at her. Ed scouted the room and located two pillows, throwing one of them at Jules as well. Then the team leader pulled out his deck of cards and started playing Solitaire.

Jules grinned to herself and opened her book to the first page. “ ‘In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit,’ ” she began. As the hours ticked by, Jules read the book aloud and Ed played endless rounds of Solitaire. None of the nurses who came in interrupted the pair, merely performing their duties and departing once again. By the time dawn peeked through the windows, Jules’ voice was getting a little hoarse and Ed had abandoned his game of Solitaire in favor of his sleeping bag. To the disappointment of both, Alanna never so much as twitched.

* * * * *

The two nighttime watchers had traded off to get breakfast by the time Spike and his unexpected guest arrived. Spike looked a little sheepish as he walked in, followed by his mother with her knitting bag; Mrs. Scarlatti inspected the room with the air of someone who is not quite convinced that the circumstances are satisfactory or that she has been told the complete truth by her son. After a moment, Mrs. Scarlatti looked much happier, to the point that she greeted Jules and Ed quite cheerfully, “Good morning, constables. The night went well?”

Ed responded with a shrug, but Jules replied, “It was fairly quiet, but I wouldn’t have minded a little disruption if that meant Alanna woke up.”

Mrs. Scarlatti nodded quite sympathetically. “It is hard to see them lying there, with none of the vitality we are used to.”

“Mamá, it’s early days,” Spike protested. “ ‘Lanna just needs some time, that’s all.”

“I second that,” Wordy announced from behind them. “Seriously, we’re expecting her to just pop up after major surgery?” He smirked and addressed the girl on the bed, “Not that I don’t think you could do that if you wanted to, kiddo.” Without missing a beat, he turned towards Mrs. Scarlatti. “You’re joining us today, Mrs. Scarlatti?”

“Sí,” the Italian matriarch replied, settling herself on the sofa and placing her knitting bag next to her, a reigning queen in her court. Spike looked torn between pointing out that he and Wordy needed seats, too, and keeping his mouth shut; Wordy solved the problem by ducking out and finding another chair to haul into the room.

Jules and Ed left while Spike and Wordy flipped a coin over who got the recliner first; Spike won, but Wordy didn’t mind a bit. The morning nurse was subjected to a Italian cross-examination by Mrs. Scarlatti before she was permitted to attend to her patient, but the woman took it in stride, smiling and answering each question with a detailed explanation.

Wordy, both a bit embarrassed at the cross-examination and hoping for some news, slipped out of the room shortly after the nurse left. He was pleased to find her at a computer just outside the doors. “Hey, um, sorry about that,” he said sheepishly.

The nurse smiled at him. “No, it’s no problem. It’s always nice to see patients with big families. She’s your niece?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed.

A playful look. “And, let me guess, that’s Grandma?”

Wordy choked on his laughter, the image of _Mrs. Scarlatti_ as the British pureblood’s grandmother particularly amusing in that instant. The nurse gave him a saucy wink, pleased that she’d gotten him to laugh. The constable opened his mouth to correct the nurse, then paused and shrugged instead. “Well, um, kind of?” he finally replied, “She’s Spike’s mom.”

The nurse considered him, her lips twitching. “I did wonder,” she remarked, mock-thoughtful, “After all, you must have the most _unusual_ family I’ve ever seen. Are you all half-siblings?” When Wordy sputtered, she outright chuckled at him. “Don’t worry,” she reassured him, pulling out a small stack of paperwork, “Your boss made it clear that all of you have permission to be here and advocate on Miss Calvin’s behalf.”

Wordy flushed as he realized she’d known all along that he and the rest weren’t related to Alanna. “Oh.” He fidgeted, trying to think of something to say, then blurted, “Do you know if she’ll ever wake up?”

The nurse gave him a sympathetic look. “She’s starting to react to stimuli again, which is a good sign.” Wordy nodded. “As for waking up…every case is different. She may wake up in ten minutes, or in a day, or more than a day; we just don’t know right now.”

Spike slipped out of the room, drawing an arched brow from Wordy. “Mamá chased me out,” the tech explained. Behind them, through the closed door, they heard her singing in Italian. “Um, let’s go get lunch or something,” Spike suggested. “Mamá will just shoo us away if we try to go back in now.”

“Okay,” Wordy agreed. To the nurse, he added, “Thanks for the information.”

The nurse smiled. “My pleasure.”

As he and Spike headed off, Spike added, “Mamá also said to tell you that she and Papá are claiming this evening.”

“Two shifts in a row?” Wordy questioned; Shelley’d made it clear that no one was supposed to take two shifts in a row, unless there was an emergency.

The bomb tech shrugged. “I learned a long time ago that my best response when she has _that_ tone of voice is, ‘Yes, Mamá.’ ”

* * * * *

Giles frowned as Roy wound down. His partner sounded rather upset and while Giles was just as upset, there were a few things Giles was _pretty_ sure he understood, but he needed clarification on the specifics. “Anything else?” he asked cautiously, ordering his thoughts – and his own questions.

Roy considered, then shook his head. “No, I think that’s everything so far.”

“Can I ask a couple questions?”

A brief head cock, then Roy waved him to continue.

“What’s a steroke?”

Roy sputtered for a instant, bewildered by the question. Then he grabbed Giles by the arm and dragged him to a more private part of the station. “You don’t know what a stroke is?” he hissed. When Giles shook his head, Roy let go to rake his hands through his hair. “Okay, any other words you were about to ask me about?”

Giles ducked his head at his partner’s spot-on observation, but answered, “Um, I don’t know what a nerosergeeon is or what an anyerism is.”

Roy bit his lip, thinking hard. “Okay. Ah, uh…um, a brain aneurysm, from what Ed told me, is technically a stroke, a minor one, but still a stroke. And a stroke, well, um, I’m not sure of the ‘textbook’ definition, but it’s bad, really bad. Usually, when someone has a stroke, they…never get back to where they were before. ‘Cause, um, I don’t know ‘bout magic, but on this side? There’s no fixing brain damage. A neurosurgeon is a doctor who works _specifically_ on people with strokes, aneurysms; you know, people with brain damage.”

“Didn’t you just say…” Giles asked in confusion.

A brief shrug. “I don’t think you can fix brain damage, but a neurosurgeon tries to prevent any _more_ damage.”

“Oh.” Giles frowned to himself, musing that he’d never heard of such a thing in the magical world before. “Can I, um, have a…printout? Of the ee-mail?”

Roy looked both amused and exasperated. “Sure, Giles. I’ll get the _e-mail_ printout Lou gave me and give it to you.”

The detective shook his head on his way back to his desk. He scooped up the printout, completely missing the smug smirks the office gossips gave each other behind his back.

* * * * *

Dean Parker read every last word of the e-mail his father’s teammate had sent out, frowning to himself. His cousin hadn’t woken up yet. He tried to tell himself it was early on, but inside, he felt a chill. He didn’t even know his cousins all that well, but that didn’t matter: they were family, just like his dad. And it wasn’t like his cousin had done this to herself, like his dad had with the drinking… For an instant, Dean wished he and his mother lived closer, just so he could visit, maybe support his dad; the teen wasn’t completely sure of his dad yet, but this? This was something that made you forget about the past and focus on the here and now; the past could wait until his cousin was better.

He printed the e-mail and left before his mother could find out what he was doing. He wanted to get the e-mail to his sports buddies; they’d been great about letting him vent his frustration instead of bottling it up. Dean did, however, forget to close his e-mail, which meant his younger half-sister found his open e-mail about an hour later. She alerted her mother, who finally found out her ex-husband’s cousin/niece was sick in the hospital.

* * * * *

Sophie found herself regretting more and more that she’d chosen to pack herself and Clark up to visit her parents. It meant she wasn’t there for Ed as he struggled through Alanna’s hospitalization and the effects of that on Greg. Only her mother’s quick intervention kept her from packing up and moving back posthaste. “Mom, I can’t just leave him all alone to deal with this,” she protested, “It’s one thing if he lets the job take over, but this is completely different.”

“Sophie, the more stress you put on yourself, the worse it will be for you and the baby,” her mother chided gently. “Now, I agree; it’s not fair to expect Ed to carry something like this alone, but it also wasn’t fair for him to expect _you_ to handle this pregnancy alone.” After a moment, she added, “The best way to help that little girl is to pray. That we can do.”

Sophie sighed to herself. She’d stopped believing in prayer a long time ago, but she dared not tell her parents that. Instead, she forced a smile. “Okay, Mom; let’s do that.”

* * * * *

Shelley made sure that Greg and Lance were occupied with her three little girls before calling her mother-in-law. “Hi, Andrea,” she greeted when the other woman picked up.

“Shelley!” Andrea cried in delight, “Any news?”

Shelley wound the phone cord around her fingers absently. “She came through the surgery, but she still hasn’t woken up. Kevin called me to let me know that the nurses aren’t sure when she will.”

Andrea was silent for a minute, considering the news and her response. “Shelley, dear, I know it seems very dark right now,” she began. Shelley’s nod was almost unconscious. “But I learned a long time ago that, as cliché as it might be, it’s always darkest before the dawn.”

* * * * *

Two days after they’d been dragged out of the hospital room, Greg and Lance were back at the hospital. The enforced break had done both a world of good, even if neither was willing to admit it. Shelley had even tried to get them to wait longer, but Greg put his foot down. As grateful as he was for the support, it was _his_ job to watch out for his _nipote_. A doctor came in with his flock of students, an occurrence that the team had reported from their own daytime watches.

With the students watching attentively, the doctor pulled out a pen and held it up in front of Alanna’s eyes, urging her, “Follow the pen with your eyes, Alanna.” He moved the pen to the side, but Alanna’s eyes didn’t follow. Greg’s heart sank as the doctor tried again, repeating his instructions and moving the pen. Still, Alanna’s eyes didn’t move.

Just as the doctor was about to try again, she spoke. “It’s in my peripheral vision.”

The students promptly tittered in the background and Greg couldn’t help but laugh too, but his laugh was much shakier. She didn’t sound anywhere _close_ to normal and she was slurring her words a little, but she was _talking_ , she was _responding_. And as the doctor asked her to follow the pen _without_ using her peripheral vision and she obeyed, Greg watched in sheer, overwhelming relief. Lance cast his uncle a huge grin, just as buoyed by his sister’s first response since the surgery.

_We just might get through this after all._

 

[1] A brain aneurysm is considered a stroke, albeit a stroke at the lower end of the stroke range

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we've hit the end of another week, Thank God. I did have my second interview with our class's primary sponsor company yesterday and I think it went okay. Frankly, I really _don't_ want to work for this company, but I won't have a choice in the matter if they decide they want me. More's the pity, but that's what I signed on for, unfortunately.
> 
> I did get asked a rather odd question right at the end, after I'd packed up my laptop to leave and let the next person go. Essentially, they asked me if I wanted to do the job I've spent the last 10-11 weeks _training_ for or another job. I tried to be diplomatic and say that I really like the problem solving and getting things to _work_ \- I even gave them an example from my project where we had one thing that worked...except when it didn't...and how I fixed that. Honestly, I'm not a people person...I'd much rather fight with computer code than other human beings, if you know what I mean. I'd also like to do the job I was _trained_ for...I did that once, as a mechanic, even if I only worked for eight months and I'd much rather do a job I've had schooling and training in than try to figure out some other job on the fly.
> 
> Speaking of flying, I just found out that an online weather program I used to use is getting shut down by the FAA in favor of some other program. *sniffle* Rest in peace, DUATS and never forget how many pilots treasured and valued your information. I certainly did.
> 
> Have a great weekend all and Fly High; Spirits Soar. (Cyber-cookie to anyone who gets the reference.)


	5. Set Me Free (Casting Crowns)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if Judge Judy is shown in Canada, but for this story, she is.

The jubilant news ended up being the core part of Lou’s next update to Alanna’s tech-side support team. As with his first update, he printed out his tech-side updates and passed the printout to Roy; Roy in turn gave it to Giles, little suspecting that the office gossips were ever so discreetly taking peeks and photos of the printout that Roy left in plain sight on his desk.

The office gossips were delighted with the news that Alanna was talking again; they regarded such news as fair game to spread as they liked. Of course, any setbacks would _also_ be spread, but much more…discreetly…or so they fancied.

* * * * *

The little family wasn’t out of the woods yet, though. Not by a long shot. Alanna was so exhausted and worn out that she had to be coaxed to eat…and could only manage a small portion of what she was fed at first. And, despite her full sentence response to the doctor, she was usually too tired for more than a word or two of communication. Still, it only took a few tries for her to communicate that she A) wanted her tablet and B) she wanted her favorite radio station.

Instead of making her wait for either one, Greg called in his reinforcements. Spike showed up less than an hour later with Alanna’s boombox and tablet in tow. To Greg’s puzzlement, the tech had also carted along a small laptop. “Spike, I don’t think she’s up for the laptop,” he informed his teammate.

Alanna craned her head to look at Spike, but clearly agreed with her uncle’s assessment as she dropped her head back onto the pillows. “Nah, it’s not for her, Boss,” Spike replied. “I, um, I’m not sure if the boombox can get a signal from in here.” _Oh._ Greg took the tablet and charging cord that Spike thrust at him; Spike commandeered one of the room’s rolling tables and set up the boombox first. Sadly, he proved to be correct that the boombox simply wasn’t powerful enough to pick up Alanna’s radio station from inside the hospital. All they heard was static; Alanna’s shoulders slumped in clear disappointment.

But Spike hadn’t given up. Instead, he turned to the little laptop and had it up and humming in what seemed like no time flat. Again, Greg questioned, “Spike?”

The tech smirked, just a bit. “Come on, Sarge; if this were a hot call, we’d just find another way in, right?” Without waiting for a reply, he answered his own question, “Right. So, I was thinking…it might be a long shot, but her station might, _might_ be online.” Spike worked at the laptop for several minutes, but his face fell farther and farther the longer he worked. Glum, he finally gave the verdict. “Sorry, Boss. I’m not seein’ her station online.”

Greg considered the matter himself. “Maybe another station?” he offered. “With the same type of music?”

The tech came close to facepalming. “Thanks, Sarge,” he threw out as the keys clicked furiously. Less than a minute later, music came from the speakers; all the proof needed that Spike had finally succeeded.

Spike grinned and picked up Alanna’s boombox to return it to its home; Greg, out of the corner of his eye, spotted Alanna trying to get Spike’s attention. Softly, he said, “Spike,” and gestured towards his niece as Spike looked over.

The bomb tech hustled to Alanna’s side as the girl rested one hand on the siderail of her bed. “Yeah?” he asked, leaning close to hear her better.

“Thanks, Uncle Spike,” Alanna whispered.

Spike beamed at her. “Anytime, kiddo. You just get better, understood?”

A spark entered violet eyes. “Copy,” she agreed.

Before Spike left, he sidled close to his boss. “Don’t know ‘bout you, Boss, but I think she’s gonna be all right.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself,” Greg admitted, just as quiet.

* * * * *

Jules was hard pressed to keep from laughing when Alanna refused to let her exhaustion or, indeed, anything else, keep her from her daily dose of Judge Judy. Even better was the look on Ed’s face the first time the redhead turned on The Judge, as Alanna and her brother occasionally referred to the daytime TV small claims court judge. The commercials were swiftly muted by Alanna…unless she’d lost her remote or was trying to avoid bending her elbow and setting off the blood pressure alarm as the cuff on her arm inflated automatically.

Once Alanna actually started responding – and Team One would take the fact that their Boss cried when he told them to their graves – her recovery seemed to be by leaps and bounds. It took perhaps two days for her appetite to come all the way back…assisted by the fact that Rush blew the usual wives’ tales about hospital food to heck and gone. The sagging of one side of the teen’s face took longer to fade, but, by the time Jules and Ed were ‘on’ again, it was mostly gone. Sick of the bed, Alanna was taking a trip to the sofa here, a vacation to the recliner there, and had been taken on an excursion around her hospital floor by the physical therapist. She still had the IV dogging her every step, but she was at least moving around.

Her tablet was her near constant companion and, when not in use, was being charged to keep the battery up. Wordy had brought the teen’s Kindle along for his shift, ensuring Alanna had entertainment when her tablet was charging and The Judge wasn’t on.

And if the entire team was carefully ignoring the stuffed timber wolf that little Ally Wordsworth had insisted her father bring to Alanna and which Alanna had latched onto and refused to let go of, well, it wasn’t hurting anything.

* * * * *

Bored. Well, tired too, but also bored. The view was great and the bed wasn’t _too_ terribad for a _hospital_ bed, but it took _forever_ to get to sleep and, when she inevitably woke up or was woken up by nurses doing a night check, it was nearly _impossible_ to go back to sleep. So she’d end up lying awake as dawn peeked over the horizon and whoever was watching her that night woke up. Even worse, breakfast didn’t arrive until seven AM at the _earliest_. Even if it arrived promptly, she was always _starving_ by the time she actually got it.

Today was the day when they changed her IV port…a process that she intellectually understood, but was, in practicality, an exercise in torture as they removed the outdated IV and found a spot for the _new_ IV. Removing the old inevitably meant a great deal of pulling at the tape on her skin and the new meant gritting her teeth as they poked her with a needle, adjusted the IV _just so_ and taped it down after flushing it. Plus, the IV usually got in her way as she tried to eat…or read…or do much of anything else.

At least they didn’t have to change the bandaging around the hole in her head today; she hated that even more than the IV. Whenever she put her hand up there, she could _feel_ the specks of dried blood, the stickiness of the tape holding the drain thing in, and how tangled and wild her hair was getting. When they took the old bandaging off, it always, _always_ , pulled at her hair something _awful_ and _hurt_ , as if she was getting her hair pulled by a particularly nasty schoolyard bully. Again, just because she _knew_ it was necessary, didn’t make it any better.

If the IV and the drain were exercises in pain tolerance, the blood pressure cuff was an exercise in how to keep its alarm from going off. If she had her elbow bent, if she tried to use her arm at all as the cuff inflated, it would sound a piercing alarm that she’d quickly come to _loathe_. Her hearing might not be as sensitive as her uncle’s – or her brother’s – but it was still more sensitive than most people’s. As such, she preferred quieter atmospheres…which the blood pressure cuff alarm most decidedly was _not_.

Alanna inspected her room’s white board, relieved that the nurse she’d had yesterday had moved onto other things…she hadn’t appreciated being micromanaged and talked down to. Fortunately, that nurse had been the exception, with almost all of the other nurses as friendly and kind as one could wish. From them, she’d found out that she was the youngest – by far – patient that any of them had ever seen in the neuro-ICU.

Now, if only they could take the stupid drip attached to her head – and hair – out, she’d be just fine and ready to go home. Alanna pouted to herself as she remembered that the nurse from the night before had told her that she’d have to stay two weeks, minimum, from the day she’d first arrived. That was still days and _days_ away.

* * * * *

Greg was grateful that Wordy and Spike’s mothers had joined forces to take the evening watch; he had another issue to deal with tonight. Namely, answering his team’s pointed questions about why Alanna wasn’t being treated magic-side.

Team One had opted for Headquarters and the briefing room for this discussion. Winnie, who’d been keeping up on the updates, had inserted herself into the talk, though she was more curious than anything else. Giles Onasi and Roy Lane were present as well, the former looking grave and the latter puzzled at his partner’s demeanor. Commander Holleran wasn’t present, but he already knew what Greg would be telling his team; the Sergeant had asked his commanding officer to keep the information to himself.

“Okay, I’ll cut to the chase,” Greg announced, “I think everyone here wants to know the reason Alanna’s being treated at Rush instead of Toronto’s St. Mungo’s Hospital.”

Unsurprisingly, Ed took the lead. “Look, I get it; you went with what we’d do on the job when you found her, but after everything calmed down a bit? Why not call in the Healers?”

* * * * *

_Greg waited until the praying stranger was out of earshot. “Lance, keep your eyes open, would you?”_

_The teen looked up, at first confused, then he understood. “Copy that.”_

“I did call the Healers in, Eddie.”

_A quick phone call to Onasi produced the expected results. The Healers showed up…a bit less discreet than Greg would have preferred, but that hardly mattered at the moment. He waved them in and spoke in an undertone, “They took her for some scans; that’s not a problem, is it?”_

_The lead Healer shook his head. “Not at all, Auror Sergeant Parker,” he reassured Parker._

“So what went wrong?” Jules asked.

_As soon as Greg saw the man’s face, he knew it was even worse than he’d been afraid of. The Healer looked as if everything he’d ever believed had come crashing down on him. “I’m sorry,” the man forced himself to say, “We can’t do anything.” Before Greg could even come up with anything of his own to say, the Healers were gone._

* * * * *

“They couldn’t do anything?” Wordy demanded incredulously.

A confirming head shake. “Not a darn thing, Wordy. I was trying to keep from breaking down when the ER doctor came in and asked me where I wanted to send her to get treated. I think ‘Rush’ was out of my mouth before I’d even caught up with the fact that tech-side doctors _could_ treat her.”

Giles shifted, but, after an arched brow from Roy – reminiscent of his brother Ed – and an encouraging look from Parker, spoke up, “I, um, talked to them afterwards…”

* * * * *

_“What do you mean, you can’t help her?” Auror Giles Onasi demanded loudly of the Healers who’d just returned with their tails all but tucked between their legs._

_The lead Healer looked utterly miserable. “Exactly what I said, Auror Onasi,” he replied. “The diagnostic spells confirm that she’s bleeding deep inside her brain…we can’t treat that – we don’t know_ how _.”_

_One of the Healers made the mistake of muttering something about how the young witch wouldn’t be in this position if she hadn’t been left ‘with that Muggle.’ Giles rounded on the offender with a lethal glare. “Say that again,” he hissed in the man’s face. “Parker called you in so you could_ help _, not so you could pass judgment on the decisions of the late Lord Calvin.” A pause. “And you don’t get to say_ anything _when you_ failed _.”_

_“No one can save that girl,” the lead Healer argued._

_Giles opened his mouth to respond and stopped as his phone’s rungtone went off. “Excuse me,” he told the Healers silkily as he turned away and picked up, “Detective Onasi speaking.”_

_“Hey, Giles, it’s Roy. Parker’s niece Alanna got taken to the hospital this morning.”_

_Giles clenched his fist at his side. “Is that so?” Giles murmured, keeping his voice under control with an effort._

_“Yeah, Ed said they’re still trying to figure out what’s wrong,” Roy confirmed, “I’ll keep you in the loop, okay?”_

_“Yes, thank you.”_

* * * * *

“When Roy called again to say that she was going into surgery…that she wasn’t dead…I couldn’t believe it. I believed the Healers when they said there was no hope.” Giles hung his head as he admitted that.

Roy looked puzzled. “So, how come our doctors could do what they couldn’t?”

Almost to himself, Lou muttered, “Numbers.” When the rest of the group stared at him, he cleared his throat. “Giles, you told us you went to school with that arms dealer. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t there only one magical school for all of Canada?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Onasi confirmed. “What about it?”

Lou shifted towards Wordy, “And isn’t there just _one_ school for all of Britain?”

“One school,” Wordy agreed, the light starting to dawn.

Sam had picked up on Lou’s line of thought. “One for France…it might serve a few other countries too…plus one school for Eastern Europe and the Baltics.” The Squib-born sniper considered. “Really, it’s not exactly all that many schools, considering we’re talking about several countries.”

“The magical world has always been smaller than the tech world,” Onasi pointed out, feeling a bit defensive.

“That’s the point,” Spike realized, “We’ve got more people and we have to have the schools, the law enforcement, and the _medical services_ to back that up.”

“Plus,” Sam put in, “Wizards don’t get a lot of diseases that techies do, so if a wizard ever _did_ get a…non-magical disease, they’d be out of luck.”

Their Sergeant had shifted back on his heels, looking like he was thinking hard. “Giles?” he inquired suddenly, “How often do wizards in general suffer from illnesses that run in their family? Or anything along those lines?”

The group fell silent as Giles considered the question, turning it over in his mind for some minutes. Thoughtful, he finally replied, “I believe there _are_ some instances where wizards _do_ have that sort of thing occur. It’s usually rather minor and easy for the Healers to treat. Why?”

“Sarge? Does that mean what happened to Alanna is hereditary?” Wordy questioned.

The slow nod shocked all of them. “Wordy, if what her neurosurgeon and Giles said is correct, I’m starting to think it is. And before anyone asks about why _Alanna’s_ magic hasn’t done anything…I don’t know. I don’t think Lance knows either. But if wizards can get hereditary diseases _and_ wizards don’t get strokes, then it follows that what happened _had_ to be hereditary.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the plot thickens. On the RL front, we have all had our second interviews and I'm currently (as of Monday) waiting to hear the verdict: aka, who gets hired and who does not. Should I get an update before this chapter goes live on Tuesday, I'll inform you all. Frankly, I'm hoping to _not_ get hired, odd as that sounds. 'Cause if I had half a choice, I'd turn 'em down...I do not trust this prospective employer...at all.


	6. Greater is He (Blanca)

Hobbling around the hospital floor wasn’t her idea of freedom, but it was much better than being cooped up in her hospital room. Uncle Wordy and Uncle Spike laughingly offered to hold down the fort, prompting her own laugh as she reluctantly tugged the IV pole after her and out the door. The physical therapist and her nurse for the day hovered as she made her way down the corridor. Then she felt it, a lightheadedness that led to a tingling in her right leg and the beginnings of a quaver in her muscles. Alanna gritted her teeth and continued forward, bound and determined to overcome the lightheaded feeling. But the quaver in her leg grew worse and worse, until finally her leg just buckled under her; she started to fall, but the physical therapist grabbed the large, thick belt around her waist and kept her up until the nurse got a chair under her.

The odd thing was that, aside from her leg buckling, nothing felt wrong. In fact, almost as soon as her leg gave, she felt fine. The nurse and the physical therapist hovered over her, keeping her from standing up; she was rather annoyed when they wouldn’t let her finish the walk and made her go back to her room instead.

Of course, Uncle Wordy and Uncle Spike’s reactions were completely different; they hovered even _more_ than her nurse when they found out her leg had given out on her. Uncle Spike was so upset that Uncle Wordy had to pass on the news to everyone else.

When they’d finally calmed down enough for her to talk, she gave a little huff. “I’m fine,” she informed them. “It was really weird and I don’t know _why_ my leg just gave out like that, but I could have walked back.” Her head tilted to the side. “Maybe I’ve been sitting too long,” she suggested impishly. She was a bit disappointed when they didn’t laugh.

* * * * *

Her Uncle Greg hovered as she walked, an anxious look on his face. Although annoyed, Alanna just kept moving, hoping to get back to her room quickly. They’d detached her from the IV for this walk, which should have been an improvement, but only a minute or so into the walk her head started hurting the way it had the night her ‘adventure’ had started. She gritted her teeth, hoping the headache would stop, but instead, it just got worse. With her usual reserves still rather depleted and her control over her emotions worn thin, she abandoned being brave in favor of getting back to her room. Alanna let her pain show in her eyes and gave her uncle a slightly pleading look.

“Hurts?” he asked softly. When she nodded, he gestured the nurse over and told her, “I think she’s got a headache.”

The nurse’s expression turned worried and she ushered both back to the room where she reattached the IV as quickly as possible. Alanna suppressed a sigh of relief as the headache faded in moments. The nurse still looked unhappy as Alanna opted for the recliner instead of the hospital bed, but Alanna wasn’t particularly interested at the moment in what was wrong _this_ time. After all, it was almost time for The Judge.

* * * * *

The next day, Alanna was playing around with her tablet with her brother looking just as bored as she felt from his post on the sofa. He’d just scooted over to use the laptop Spike was letting them borrow when someone tapped on the mostly closed door. Both siblings looked up and blinked in surprise when they saw who it was. Dean Parker and his mother Catherine were standing right outside the hospital room. “Hi Dean,” Alanna chirped, waving the hand that wasn’t holding her tablet. “Come on in.”

The two entered, Catherine looking both pleased and upset when she realized her ex-husband wasn’t in the room. Lance understood at once. “Uncle Greg’s getting lunch,” the teenager explained lazily. “We take turns so ‘Lanna’s not alone.”

Alanna’s expression spoke volumes of her wish to smack her brother’s arm; Dean smirked and did it for her. Both of them laughed at the startled look on Lance’s face. “You deserved that, brother mine,” Alanna remarked.

Lance made a point of sneering back and putting his nose in the air. “I see how it is.” That he flounced _just so_ and made room for Dean to sit down went unremarked, even if Dean rolled his eyes at his cousin’s theatrics.

“Glad to see you’re doing better,” Dean told Alanna with a genuine smile on his face. “Boy, was it a surprise when Ed called and told me what was going on.”

“Yes,” his mother agreed, “Such a surprise that you _didn’t tell me_.” Her displeasure at that fact dripped from her voice and her expression was unhappy.

Dean looked embarrassed. “I, um, yeah…sorry, Mom.”

Alanna had a private suspicion of what Dean had been fumbling to say…he hadn’t thought his mother would be interested. But saying that was impolitic, so she interrupted. “Well, it was a surprise for me, too. Not something I ever want to do again.”

“I bet,” Dean replied, “Do you know when you can go home?”

The redhead slumped down a bit. “Have to stay for two weeks minimum,” she began. “Plus, um, the last couple times they tried to take me off the drip, I got a headache really fast and they had to turn it back on.”

“That does seem to be the biggest hurdle at the moment,” Uncle Greg agreed from the doorway. He looked unsurprised by the guests, but Alanna had seen her brother’s discreet texting from the corner of her eye. “Dean, Catherine.” The Sergeant came in and, with an apologetic look at Alanna, dropped his lunch items on her hospital bed. With his arms free, he crossed to Dean and pulled his son up for a brief hug.

“Hey, Dad,” Dean managed around his father’s hug. “We, uh, Mom thought we should come up and visit.”

Alanna watched as her uncle shifted back and beamed at his former wife. “Thanks Catherine.” Their argument from the last time they’d spoken seemed to have been forgotten as Catherine smiled back.

Though she said nothing, she looked far more approving of her ex-husband than she had before. Alanna moved the conversation along, asking about how Dean’s school and sports team were doing. Lance chipped in, adding his own share and keeping things from getting awkward.

When Dean and his mother finally had to leave, it was Dean who hugged his father, promising to come back when he could. Lance and Alanna pretended not to notice the tears in their uncle’s eyes.

* * * * *

Jules had gotten to the hospital first, only to get a message from Wordy that he’d been delayed at home. With a mental sigh, Jules hiked up to Alanna’s hospital room and relieved the overnighters: Ed and Sam. She shooed them out the door, promising that she could handle a couple of hours on her own. Perhaps an hour after her arrival, a flock of doctors arrived.

The lead doctor solemnly explained to both ladies, “We’re going to do a test to see if we can take you off the IV drip, Miss Calvin. I know you’ve done this before and it’s becoming a concern that you haven’t improved significantly during each prior test.”

Alanna nodded agreement, a pinch of dread on her face. The doctor shut off the drip and the group waited. Unfortunately, less than fifteen minutes went by before Alanna’s face was screwed up in pain and she was starting to clutch at her head. The drip was turned back on, the disappointment of the entire group of doctors clear.

Jules cleared her throat. “What exactly are you testing for?”

At first the doctor regarded her with some caution, but Alanna’s nurse slipped out and came back with the paperwork Sarge had filled out, granting his entire team medical power of attorney whenever he couldn’t personally be at the hospital. The doctor inspected the paperwork and asked to see Jules’ identification. Jules provided it without a qualm, pleased that they _were_ being cautious.

Satisfied that Jules had sufficient authority to make decisions and hear more…restricted…medical information, he explained, “During an event like an aneurysm or a stroke, many body and brain functions shut down, for lack of a better term. Two weeks is normally the amount of time it takes for those functions to ‘restart’ themselves.” Jules nodded as she took the information in. “One of those functions is a system that our brains use to drain excess cerebrospinal fluid. Now, this fluid is constantly being produced by our brains and the excess fluid will drain out of the brain to be dealt with by the rest of the body. Alanna’s brain is producing spinal fluid just as it should, but so far the system to drain that fluid hasn’t kicked back in.”

He made to continue, but stopped at Jules’ hand wave. “So how long do we wait for that to happen? And what if it never happens?”

She received an understanding look from the doctor. “That’s precisely what we need to discuss at this point, Miss Callaghan. We _can_ choose to give Alanna more time or we can make the decision that the fluid drainage system is unlikely to kick back in and implant a shunt that will do the job for her.”

Jules frowned, wishing that Sarge was here; she might have the authority to make this call, but she felt uncomfortable doing so. Alanna asked her own question. “How much longer would I have to stay?” Her longing to go home was so obvious that Jules squirmed.

“If we attempt to give your brain time to restart the fluid draining, it would be at least another week,” the doctor replied apologetically. “If the shunt, you would likely be able to go home a day or so after it’s installed. But that would require another surgery.”

Alanna made a face at that. She shifted towards Jules, then looked back at the doctor. “And if another week doesn’t help?”

“Then you would be looking at a shunt in any case.”

Put that way, the decision was more straightforward. Jules looked the teenager in the eye. “You sure?”

Alanna nodded. “I don’t think it’s going to get better, Aunt Jules. I might as well get it over with.” _And go home._

Jules drew in a deep breath and turned to the doctors. “Let’s do the shunt.”

* * * * *

Wordy arrived perhaps ten minutes later; he was disappointed by the news, but understood Alanna’s line of thinking perfectly. “I probably would have made the same decision, kiddo,” he told the redhead.

Alanna smiled back, looking reassured by his response. “Thanks, Uncle Wordy.”

With a grin, Wordy turned to Jules. “I’ll let Sarge know first. Then everyone else.”

“Thanks, Wordy.” Jules got up to pace around the room, stretching her legs as Wordy headed off to make a few phone calls. She was just starting to get into a rhythm when the door opened and a female doctor came in, followed by Alanna’s nurse for the day.

The doctor walked right up to the bed with a perky smile and a rather superior attitude. “All right, Miss Calvin. We’re going to run a quick test to see how your brain systems are doing right now. Then we’ll know what our next steps are.”

“Excuse me,” Jules interrupted, her back rigid, “They already ran that test this morning.”

The doctor’s perkiness faded. “Oh?” she inquired in a condescending tone, clearly trying to regain control.

Jules’ eyes narrowed. “Yes and we’ve decided what our next steps are.” She paused, then added sarcastically, “Since you can’t be bothered to read Alanna’s file, I don’t think we need you in here.” When the doctor tried to stare the constable down, Jules just hiked both brows, crossed her arms, and waited. It didn’t take long for the doctor to retreat.

In the background, Alanna giggled.

* * * * *

Greg was grateful that Shelley Wordsworth had bullied her way into being at the hospital with him as Alanna went through the surgery to get the shunt placed. Not only did that mean that Lance didn’t have to see his sister like this, it also meant that Greg had some much needed immediate backup. Shelley, used to the illnesses of childhood, understood perfectly well how to handle Alanna’s _very_ bad reaction to the anesthesia. The blonde woman held a tub for Alanna as the girl threw up what seemed like everything she’d eaten in the past twenty-four hours. When Alanna stopped, looking miserable, Shelley put the tub down in easy reach and quietly instructed the nurse to find saltine crackers and a small Chill for the young girl to eat.

“Easy, Alanna,” Shelley soothed, “You’re fine, you’re all right. We’re just going to take this one step at a time and we’ll have you feeling better soon.”

Alanna nodded. Despite her current unhappy state, she already looked _much_ better than she had only a few hours earlier. She was no longer attached to the IV drip that had been her constant shadow over the past two weeks. Her hair was an absolute mess and Greg was strongly considering making her cut it all off and letting what was left grow back out, but it no longer had the bandaged drain in it. And the anti-nausea medicine was finally kicking in, letting the girl, who’d already lost a fair amount of weight, have something to eat before she dropped off to sleep, cautiously curled around her timber wolf.

* * * * *

Greg had refused, point-blank, to be sent home as night fell and he and his niece sat in her new hospital room. Through the window they watched as fireworks went off; he wasn’t sure what was being celebrated, but he felt them apropos nonetheless. After all, for _him_ , the fireworks were celebrating the fact that Alanna was getting better and she’d be coming home soon. Even better, aside from the first couple days, he hadn’t seen a single sign of Alanna having permanent brain damage.

* * * * *

Alanna’s hair was cut short, practically to her scalp, she had staples in her head, around the new shunt, and the doctors had insisted that she ride in a wheelchair, but she was finally coming home, fifteen days after her initial collapse. She was still weak, her hearing was still much more sensitive than usual, and she tired easily, but she could walk, talk, and eat. It was a heck of a lot more than Greg had dared to hope those first couple of awful days.

Silnok had helped arrange for Greg to rent a minivan at a reasonable price; Greg’s thinking was that a minivan had more space and would be easier for his niece to get in and out of. The goblin account manager had approved and insisted that the Calvin estate foot the bill for the rental. Lance stayed with Alanna while his uncle headed to where they’d parked earlier and drove the minivan to the skyway level to pick them up.

Alanna thanked the hospital employee who’d pushed her wheelchair and, with her brother’s help, clambered up into the van’s front seat. Lance took the middle seat and made sure all the doors were closed. “Okay, we’re good,” he reported.

At home, the welcome-home soup Shelley Wordsworth had dropped off was waiting for the trio and the living room couch was set up in its air mattress mode. And if, on that first night, Greg found his nephew curled up next to his sister, well, he wasn’t going to argue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are in the home stretch! Both with this story and with my time at this company. To my dismay, I _was_ accepted by the company I'm extremely wary and skeptical of. Though none of my misgivings have gone away, I've decided to take this as God's decision and I will move forward in obedience. He's got my back and He always will.
> 
> Please pray for my two (three? - Gossip says the third _was_ accepted, but I'm not 100% sure) classmates who were not accepted and will have to wait and do more interviews with other companies. Please also pray that we will get more information (I'm not even sure which city I'll be going to yet) and that we will get to go _home_ before our onboarding date at the end of this month. For myself, I have a number of doctor's appointments and such that need to be dealt with in this gap, so pray for that.
> 
> Have a great weekend and our last chapter will be up, as usual, on Tuesday (barring unforeseen circumstances). Also, a Side Story may appear soon(tm)...once I have more information about where I'm going.


	7. My Story (Big Daddy Weave)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to a guest reviewer over on Fanfiction.net, since I can't send them a reply to their review: A Chill is a small frozen treat available here in the US. No relationship to chili whatsoever. The best ones (in my opinion) can be found at various public events, usually in the flavors of lemonade or strawberry. I usually end up getting mine from the frozen treats section at my local grocery store, where they actually have lemonade, strawberry, mango, and cherry (they may also have chocolate).
> 
> I don't know whether Chills (or their various copycats) are sold in Canada, but for my story, they are. I do know that hospitals in the US will have small food items (like Chills) available for patients between mealtimes (or who just came out of surgery…aside from the nausea, you are not allowed to eat before the surgery…sometimes it can be 12 hours or more).

Three physical therapists and a home nurse were scheduled to come in the weeks after Alanna came home. All but one only came the one time and the last came twice. Alanna rapidly recovered her strength and, within two weeks of coming home, was getting caught up on her homework from before her illness. The decision was made to keep her at home for another week or so, but then she’d be back in her routine as if nothing had ever happened.

Greg did take her to the Healers, asking if the shunt would be affected by either her magic or magic in general. All of them were quite perplexed by the ‘Muggle’ device, but, after testing it as best they could, concluded that magic was unlikely to affect it. Alanna, with wide violet eyes, asked if it would keep her from becoming an Animagus; her uncle choked at her choice of words.

The Healer ran another scan, frowning to himself. “I don’t _believe_ so, Miss Calvin,” he replied. Then he brightened. “Let me ask one of my colleagues.”

He departed briefly, returning with a pleasant, rather young-looking woman. “I understand you’re looking to become an Animagus someday,” the woman remarked, looking at Alanna.

Alanna serenely agreed as her uncle stifled his laughter from his seat behind the Healer.

“There shouldn’t be a problem,” the woman reassured them, “I’ve run across this before, when wizards run into trouble and end up, for one reason or another, being treated in the Muggle world. There’s a small window of time when your magic hasn’t adjusted to the new additions and you can run into issues, but after a day or so, your magic knows the Muggle device is there and adjusts accordingly. In fact, one wizard was in the unusual situation of having a Muggle pahcemocker and his magic kept it from being overwhelmed by normal magic.” Greg whistled, impressed at the story.

* * * * *

Six months after her initial collapse, Alanna went through an angiogram **(2)** to allow her doctors to check on the status of the sealed aneurysm. About a month after that, they had an appointment with the doctor.

Alanna was a bit nervous as the surgeon who’d saved her life and his nurse came into the checkup room. He was a tall man, taller than her uncle and maybe about Uncle Wordy’s height. He had dark hair that was cut short and equally dark eyes; his demeanor, however, was very friendly and he shook her hand enthusiastically.

“I’m Doctor Lopen,” he introduced himself. With an introductory gesture at his nurse, who waved, he added, “This is my nurse-practitioner, Kaffen.” The woman smiled at her, her brown eyes twinkling and her long dark brown hair done up in a ponytail.

Dr. Lopen sat at the computer, bringing up several images as he spoke. “The aneurysm has healed very well. We’ll have to keep an eye on it because that could change, but for now, it’s doing well. However, while I was treating it initially and also when we did the angiogram last month, I noticed another condition.”

“I remember you mentioning that, but I’m afraid I had other things on my mind,” her uncle remarked, leaning forward in his seat.

The doctor nodded. “At the time, we had more important things to deal with,” he agreed. “With the aneurysm under control, though, we need to discuss this.” He turned the monitor and pointed out something on the medical scans that Alanna could sort of see, but she didn’t understand what he was trying to show them.

“I diagnosed a condition called Moyamoya. It’s a gradual thinning of the blood vessels at the back of the skull. There are no symptoms, no way to tell that you have the condition…until you have a massive stroke. At which point, treatment is too late to make much of a difference.”

His finger shifted, pointing at a new area. “Now, the aneurysm formed at one of the main arteries that supply the brain with blood; the exact location where it formed is where the artery branches into two separate arteries. It probably formed because that artery is doing more and more of the work. More blood is going through it and drastically increasing the blood pressure in that area.” The doctor traced the sealed aneurysm and they could see how the increased blood pressure had pushed a part of the artery wall outwards like a balloon, creating the aneurysm. “Now, if the pressure starts pushing the coils we used to seal the aneurysm back into the aneurysm, we may have to do more corrective procedures, but for now, the coils are holding just fine.

Uncle Greg spoke up. “So, what does this mean for my niece? Is she living with a ticking time bomb?”

“Yes and no,” Dr. Lopen replied. “Certainly, this has to be treated, but treatment is straightforward and I’ve yet to run across an instance where the treatment hasn’t successfully alleviated the risk for stroke. The thinning veins we can’t treat.”

He stood up, moved to Alanna and traced an invisible line on the side of her head. “What we do is we take a blood vein that runs above the skull and route it under the skull, attaching it to the brain. Once that’s done, the brain takes that vein and grows new blood vessels which take over for the veins that are shutting down. If necessary, we can repeat the surgery on the other side of the skull. But only if it becomes necessary; most patients are just fine with one surgery.” He smiled at both of them. “Also, Alanna is young, which means we have time to get this done before it becomes an emergency. I don’t expect any firm answers today.”

Greg cleared his throat. “What are the chances that you would have found this if she hadn’t had the aneurysm?”

A sorrowful look. “Unfortunately, as I said, Moyamoya has no symptoms until the patient suffers a stroke. Because of the aneurysm, which did remarkably little damage, we _did_ find it.”

* * * * *

“What do you think, _mia nipote_?” Greg asked his niece after they’d looked up the good doctor online as well as a few medical sites about Moyamoya.

Alanna considered thoughtfully. “What are the odds?” When her uncle looked at her in surprise, she elaborated, “What are the odds that I’d get the Chief of Neurosurgery, who has, by the way, spent most of his career studying and developing ways to treat Moyamoya, to treat my brain aneurysm?”

Her uncle blinked at that. “Probably very low, _mia nipote_ ,” he admitted.

“That’s what I thought,” Alanna agreed. “I don’t want another surgery, but I think I have to anyway.” She looked unhappy. “If the magical world can’t treat a brain aneurysm, I doubt they can do any better with this.”

“Agreed.”

“So, tech-side is pretty much my only option,” Alanna concluded, still thinking aloud. “And I know he said this wasn’t a rush, but probably better to just get it done, yeah?”

“I hear you,” Greg replied quietly. “Not exactly the news we wanted, is it?”

“No, but it could have been worse,” Alanna remarked. Then she grinned a little. “I do think we found out why my magic didn’t do anything.”

“And why’s that, sweetheart?”

“If my magic had healed me, the Moyamoya would have still been there,” Alanna said simply, before heading off to do her homework, leaving her uncle gaping behind her.

* * * * *

Greg Parker labored over the word processor on his computer; he was remembering why he usually tried to avoid typing reports. Or maybe it was the subject matter he was having the most trouble with. Either way, he needed to do this final update himself, because most of his team didn’t know every last detail. He had no idea what the reaction would be, wasn’t even sure about his _own_ reaction, really. So he fussed and fidgeted, got up and paced as he thought the update through yet again, and finally found the words to say.

_“I have come to the conclusion that, as awful as this was, it happened for a reason. Far too many things went just right for it to have been mere chance or coincidence. As much as I don’t usually ascribe things to God, this time I don’t see how I can avoid it._

_Of the things that went just right and conspired to protect Alanna from serious harm, I have complied the following list:_

  1. _When Alanna fell off the couch the night this started, she fell on her stomach, which kept her from choking as her body refused to stop throwing up._
  2. _My team was not on-call or scheduled for a night shift, which means I was at home when Alanna needed help._
  3. _At the hospital, when the doctors and nurses left her on her back and unattended, Lance and I were present to keep her from choking._
  4. _When the doctor initially refused my request that Alanna be taken to Rush and I pressed her for her opinion, she decided to consult the neurosurgeon from Toronto Western Hospital who just happened to be outside the door._
  5. _Had I called the ambulance that night, the neurosurgeon would not have been there._
  6. _When Alanna reached Rush, she ended up in the hands of the Chief of Neurosurgery, who, as it turns out, has a great deal of experience with the condition Alanna was ultimately diagnosed with._
  7. _Despite the night’s delay, Alanna received treatment for the brain aneurysm quite swiftly, resulting in_ no _permanent brain damage._
  8. _Although she has yet to go through the treatment for her condition, Moyamoya, the doctor has assured us that, once complete, the odds of her suffering another aneurysm or a stroke are very low. On top of that, the risks involved in the treatment are also very low._
  9. _The one permanent effect of the aneurysm was dealt with by way of a surgery to install a shunt in her head, replacing the system that never came back. The shunt will, hopefully, keep her from having any more headaches due to spinal fluid buildup._
  10. _Many times, an event like this means that certain activities and events are restricted, usually for life. Alanna currently has_ no _medical restrictions and she is not expected to have any in the future._



_The list above is merely the most visible things I have had the opportunity to observe. There may be others in the future. As much as I might want to deny it, I’ve found myself with the inevitable conclusion that God must have a plan for Alanna. I can think of no other logical explanation for everything that happened._

_Thank you all for supporting us in this difficult time,_

_Greg Parker”_

 

_~ Fin_

 

[2] A type of X-ray test used to map out blood flow in a particular area, such as the head or heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And as we come to a close, I can share the driving force behind this story. This story you've just read is _my_ story. Now, obviously, I changed things to fit with the Magical Flashpoint 'verse, but the majority of the story is either unchanged or as best as I can remember it.
> 
> I was all of 24 (a few months shy of 25) when I had a killer headache exactly like I described Alanna getting; my parents found me on the floor of our living room the next morning and called 911. As I've been going to Rush since I was an infant, my mother requested that I be sent there when our local hospital concluded that they could not treat me.
> 
> The fireworks I mentioned did happen the night of the surgery to install the shunt; I had that surgery on July 4th of that year and my father and I watched the fireworks through the window of my hospital room. I was released from the hospital the next day.
> 
> I do indeed have Moyamoya, though it's primarily found in Asian populations. Why I have it is probably something we'll never really know, but I do. The treatment for Moyamoya is, again, just as I described and that may become a future Side-Story…haven't decided.
> 
> Thank you for reading this story; I'll try to avoid self-inserts in the future (and if anyone's curious, no, Alanna is not based on me…except for her pink-hating…that's all me).
> 
> Our next story, "Trial by Moonlight" will kick off this Friday, May 25th, 2018.
> 
> On a RL note, as I write this on Monday, we still have yet to hear from our new company. Frankly, the _only_ reason I know I have a new job is because I've been _told_ that by my current company. We're also supposed to get 5 paid days (business) off before our onboarding date...right now it looks like we will get, at _best_ , four. That's if we hear something _today_. If we get more news before I post this, I'll add it, but for now, please pray that the Lord would grant me patience as I wait on Him.
> 
> Tuesday update: I have called this meeting to tell you there is no news. (I wish I was kidding when I say we actually had a meeting like that last week.) As of this morning, still no sign of the elusive, rarely seen offer letter in the wilds of Reston, VA. Oh, and I'm posting this chapter with my phone's hotspot since our company's Internet is down. I'm just waiting for them to post on the company's _online_ chat room that the Internet is down. They did that last time the Internet went out.

**Author's Note:**

> And we're off to the races! For a Real Life update: we've finished our final projects, except for the presentations, so really, now it's studying and interviews. Our trainer wants to dive into the next tier of certification, but several of us would like some more experience with our _current_ level of certification before we head for higher ground. So we'll see how that goes. As far as the interviews we've already had, aside from a vague 'most people did well', we haven't really had any feedback.
> 
> Please do read and review...this story is probably the biggest personal risk I've taken since I started this whole series and I'd really like the feedback.


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